Dana Scully's Diary
by Piper Sargasso
Summary: Scully's life in "Bridget Jones" style.
1. Not a V G Start

Dana Scully's Diary

By Piper Sargasso

Feedback: Oh, could you? Please?!? PiperSargasso@aol.com 

Rating: PG-13 

Keywords: Humor, "Bridget Jones's Diary" crossover.

Archive: Sure! Please let me know where.

Disclaimer: The X-Files and related characters are the property of 

CC, 1013, etc. "Bridget Jones's Diary" is the property of Helen 

Fielding and Penguin Books. No infringement intended.

Summary: Scully's life in "Bridget Jones" style. 

A/N: The format from this story is based heavily on "Bridget 

Jones's Diary." The timeline is erratic and spins off into its own 

alternate universe, Melissa and Ahab are still alive and OOC 

behavior runs amok. It's all in good fun. Just go with it!   

*************************************

I WILL NOT

1) Continue to overstock refrigerator with perishables, which 

invariably will go bad while away on a case, resembling sixth 

grade science project.

2) Spend extravagantly on designer suits which end up torn, 

bloodied or covered in Mulder's "alien goo." 

3) Fall for any of the following: Superiors, vampires posing as 

sheriffs, government conspirators, firestarters, liver-eaters, 

sideshow carnies, ex-boyfriends who body swap, men who talk 

about themselves in third-person, genderbending weirdoes, 

psychotics with tattoos or paranoid-delusional work partners. 

Should be easy enough.

4) Be annoyed with Mom's incessant matchmaking, or her complete 

lack of insight thereof. 

5) Worry about not having boyfriend, but instead realize that am 

responsible, modern woman of substance with steady, respectable 

and meaningful job and a license to practice medicine.

6) Bemoan the fact that said license is license to cut up dead 

people, earning me strange looks in social situations when 

subject comes up.

I WILL

1) Shop bargain stores for business suits.

2) Stop feeling like chastised eight year-old upon leaving Skinner's 

office.

3) Get in touch with best friends from college, Meredith and Anya. 

Go out more, get a life.

4) Indulge Frohike in his strange phone calls. Likely little troll 

gets little other pleasure out of life, and since they are harmless, 

will stop threatening his lower extremities every time he calls.

5) Find suitable boyfriend with meaningful career who will not be 

intimidated by me and will understand freakish office hours. But, 

as said above, will NOT stress over finding said boyfriend.

6) Gain upper hand in all conspiracy-related work issues, leaving 

partner in awe of my investigative prowess so will feel less like 

Mulder's sidekick.

7) Return movies to Blockbuster in timely manner. Alien invasion 

permitting.

8) Stop flirting with Alex Krycek, as is v. bad for self-image and 

self in general. Krycek is hired killer, not to be trifled with, 

enemy of the side of Good, etc. Hmm... v. hot, though.

              ********************

                       January         

                   ~ Not a V.G. Start ~ 

              ********************

~ Wednesday 1 January

Late videos: 2 (but since holidays and all the rushing around, is 

okay), Stunning, career-advancing moves: 0 (but have a plan, 

which should count for something), Number of boyfriends: 0, 

Krycek seductions: 0 (v.g.)

Have decided life is in utter chaos and need a place to organize 

thoughts. Discovery of said chaotic life pointed out at least 

twelve times by various members of family over Christmas visit, 

where Charlie commented that I, unlike my other married or 

involved siblings, would be sleeping in same single bed that has 

been in my room since high school whereas doubles have been 

placed in all _their_ perspective bedrooms to accommodate 

significant others a long time ago. 

"Charlie, leave Dana alone," Mom cut in. Hurrah! Mom to the 

rescue! "She'll bring someone home when she's ready."

"Thank you, Mom," I said, grateful to have ally.

After a thoughtful pause, she added, "You know, Margaret 

Parker's son Andrew just moved to Georgetown. Maybe you 

could -- oh, I don't know -- welcome him to the neighborhood?"

Oh no. Here it goes.

"He's a really nice guy, Dana," she rushed on, as if sensing 

rejection on horizon. "Just got out of a nasty marriage -- no fault 

of his own, of course. His wife was a hideous creature -- ran off 

with the Schwann's Ice Cream man! Can you believe it? Maybe 

he could take you to the Haversham's New Year's Eve party...?"

"No, Mom."

"And he graduated from Harvard Law--" she went on, as if this 

would change my mind.

"No, Mom! I can find my own date for the party, thanks." Felt 

headache coming on. Please, God, make it stop.

As it turned out, had no date for the party after all, which Charlie 

and Bill smugly pointed out. Missy, in surge of sisterly solidarity, 

cancelled on her date and went stag with me. Will gloss over the 

horrid details of party here, but must mention that if I had to 

hear, "What, Dana? No date?" in good-natured, yet loud voice one 

more time, was going to shoot first and ask questions later.

Will also ignore fact that no one said anything of the sort to 

_also _single Melissa. Humph.

~ Thursday 2 January

Late videos: 2 (late fees accumulating as I speak), Stunning 

career moves: 0 (first week of new year, so forgivable), Number 

of boyfriends: 0, Number of pencils in the ceiling: about 30, 

Krycek seductions: 4

Office. I wonder -- is it considered a seduction when using 

inevitable office bugs as medium? Have dropped many subtle 

hints as to my plans for the evening, such as hot bubble bath and 

a glass of wine (which will likely evolve into carafe of wine, if 

truth be told), mentioning strangeness of never knowing if 

apartment -- or worse -- _bathroom_ being video taped. (Wink, 

wink.) At any rate, have flashed some leg in complicated leg-

crossing maneuver, making sure am in direct line of video 

camera in smoke detector they keep putting in no matter how 

many times we find and destroy them. As if we'd be so stupid as 

to discuss anything important in this office anyway. 

God, am so bored. No cases, mad filing completed before holiday 

break and main excitement was when Frohike called up to ask 

what color underwear I'm wearing, breathing heavily when I 

simply said "green." Hung up and made mistake of glancing at 

Mulder, who smiled suspiciously. Hmm... acts like he knows 

what phone conversation was about. Must be on guard with that 

one.

~ Saturday 4 January

Late videos: 0 (am perfect saint with minimal late fees), Number 

of phone calls from Troll Man: 1 (but was v. strange, even by his 

standards.), Number of times checked computer for possible virus 

sent by scorned Troll Man: 3

My Apartment. Am trying to be friendly in face of Frohike's 

strange telephone obsession, but is proving to be difficult. Phone 

calls becoming increasingly weirder. 

"Scully."

"Put that DOWN, Langly. I'm not kidding."

"Pardon?" I asked, confused.

"Because it cost me two-hundred bucks, that's why. Freakin' 

hippie."

"Frohike," I sighed. "What do you want?"

"Oh! Hey there, pretty lady," he drawled in what I'm sure he 

thinks is a sexy voice. "What's up, doc?"

Oh good God. "Frohike, this unnatural obsession must stop."

"I was thinking the same thing -- _Dana_. When are you going to 

stop fighting what we have?"

What?! 

"What we have is a weird, one-sided telephone fixation. You 

need help."

An uncomfortable pause. "Fine!" he finally spat. "Look, if you 

can't commit and commit _soon_, it's over, baby. I'm sick of the 

head games." The phone clicked loudly, announcing sudden 

disconnection.

Have taken two Aleve to suppress the pressure in my head. 

(6:35 PM)

Hurrah! Have just come home from frustrating, unsuccessful 

shopping trip to find three messages on machine. Two were 

hang-ups (Frohike, no doubt), but last was from Mulder, who 

wants to check out new Italian restaurant downtown and go see 

movie. Hope he doesn't want to see some slasher flick, action 

movie with bad acting, or similar as have eye on new Hugh Grant 

movie. Am excited because have wanted to try new restaurant for 

a while, but can't stand sympathetic, yet smug glances from high 

school-aged hostesses in chunky black loafers when asking for 

"table for one." Must call Mulder and confirm.

(6:40 PM)

Humph! Just got off phone with Mulder, who can't make it 

because he's on his way to the Gunmen's to console a mopey 

Frohike.

"I think you really broke his heart this time, Scully," he said. 

Could hear him trying to tamp down laughter. Told him which 

end to kiss and disconnected, irritated with erratic moods of men 

in general. 

Survey of cabinets and fridge have come up with either rice, 

canned soup or celery stalks with peanut butter as options for 

dinner. Refuse to leave apartment and fight post-holiday traffic 

again. No Italian food and going to movies alone is no fun when 

is only option. Will instead rent DVD (when released) from 

Blockbuster, go out on unexpected case and turn in v. late as per 

usual.  

~ Tuesday 7 January

Number of times had to calm Mulder down: 12, Cigarettes 

smoked: 2 (v.v. bad.), Krycek seductions: 5 (out of desperation), 

Thoughts of leaving obviously deranged FBI for private practice: 

about 63

How could this happen? How? Stepped into Skinner's office this 

morning for what thought was weekly ass chewing and was 

confronted by a smirking Tom Colton. By some apparent 

oversight, he has received a promotion and has been transferred 

back to the DC field office. Why, God? Why? Oh! Hold on, 

phone ringing.

(11:54 AM)

Was Tom. Little twerp actually had the audacity to ask me to 

lunch! Humph. As if I'd go anywhere with that creep.

(11:56 AM)

Although, it would give me a chance to tell him off.

(12:00 PM)

And am pretty hungry. Could always tell him off while he buys 

me lunch.  

(12:02 PM)

Definitely should _not_ go with Tom, but with Mulder instead in 

display of loyalty and unity. Hmm... Mulder talking about going 

for Chinese again, though. If have to see one more spring noodle, 

will be forced to stab him with his own chopsticks. God, there are 

other kinds of take-out. Does he know this? Sick of Chinese, sick 

of China and have never even been there. All Mulder's fault. 

Still, will not go with Vile Tom. Will suggest nice deli down the 

road.

(1:36 PM)

Oh God. Have snuck out of office with lame excuse of picking up 

dry cleaning to meet with Vile Tom for lunch. Was awful and 

feel awful for lying to Mulder. Entire meal was like hell, with 

uncomfortable conversation and awkward silences. When finally 

asked why was invited, Vile Tom admitted with flushed cheeks 

that he was sorry about his previous behavior and would like to 

try and be friends. Would have been more convincing if hadn't 

been trying to stare down my blouse at the time.

Angry inner feminist railed against such treatment, happily 

bringing memories of Tooms case to the surface for further 

enragement. Gave him thorough, but dignified ass chewing, then 

left with head held high in manner of soap opera goddess. Still 

seething in parking lot when cell rung.

"Scully," I barked.

"Afternoon, Dewdrop."

"Jesus, Frohike! Get a hobby." I hissed.

"You _are_ my hobby." He said sulkily. Heard a sniffle on other 

end before he hung up.

God. Am horrible, horrible person. Have lied to partner. Have 

made Frohike cry. 

~ Monday 13 January

Chocolate units consumed: 8, Murderous thoughts: too many to 

count, Weight: one ton, Krycek seductions: 7 (hormonal frenzy)

Interesting development -- have grown saddlebags in space of one 

night's sleep. Clothes too tight this morning, as am bloated to 

twice my normal size due to menstruation. Look like Michelin 

Man in a skirt. Amazing still have ability to walk without aid of 

crane. God, legs ache, back aches, cramps sending dull waves of 

pain throughout body. Mulder droning on and on about cow 

mutilations in West Virginia while I fantasize about movie with 

John Cusack as hired killer in manner of Krycek, but much more 

sensitive.

Wonder where fascination with bad boys has come from. Reflect 

on how wrong it is to get attached to soulless murderers. Hmm... 

think dismissing them as soulless isn't quite fair -- surely just 

misunderstood? Spend several slides worth of time romanticizing 

profession of mercenary as glamorous and James Bond-like. A 

dirty, but necessary evil in a dirty, evil world? Perhaps there 

truly is more than meets the eye. Yet, can't help but feel am 

betrayal of modern feminist goals and have turned into mindless 

heap of moral-less, hormonal, quivering girly-ness due to lack 

of sex. 

Am _not_ mindless twit who sits around in rough bars looking 

for creep who treats her badly to make her life feel more 

complete. Am sensible woman of morals not driven to distraction 

by hormones, therefore should not be attracted to bad boys. Am 

woman, hear me roar and all that. And next time see Vile Tom, 

will --- Oooh! Found box of chocolate truffles hidden under stack 

of papers on desk! 

~ Tuesday 14 January

Weight: 600 lbs. (feels like), Chocolate units: 4 (improvement), 

Krycek seductions: 2, Tense elevator meetings: 1

Michelin Tire Man-style saddlebags appear to have shrunk. Still 

bloated, however, and v. cranky.

Matters not helped when ran into Vile Tom alone in elevator on 

way to cafeteria for substandard, powder-based cappuccino. 

Situation v. uncomfortable as wanted to continue tongue-lashing, 

but thought it redundant and ill-mannered to continue in that 

fashion every time we meet. Rode two floors in increasingly 

tense silence when:

"Look, Dana, I'm really sorry about lunch yesterday. I don't 

know what came over me. Will you let me make it up to you?"

Ha! How unoriginal. Wondered if he always began apologies to 

offended women in this manner. 'Sorry for groping you, darlin'. 

Don't know what came over me.' Is pathetic, to say the very least. 

Ugh, and cocky smile on his face made me want to deck him.

Raised my chin to show am clearly above him and his insincere 

apologies and told him in dignified voice, "There's just too much 

water under the bridge, Tom. You ruined any chance we had of 

remaining friends when you showed your ass last time we 

worked together."

Had the grace to look ashamed. Good.

Elevator doors opened and I prepared to stride out past him 

triumphantly when he stopped me with a gentle hand on my arm. 

Looked down into my eyes longingly and whispered, "I certainly 

hope that isn't true, Dana." 

Hmm...

~ Wednesday 22 January

Chocolate units: 1 (excellent progress), Krycek seductions: 0 

(perfectly saint-like), Panic attacks: 8, Number of dates on the 

horizon: 1 (but v. bad)

Nearly a year without going on a single date, and now this. Is v. 

v. bad. 

Oh God, how do I get myself into these things? Ran into Vile 

Tom again (regular occurrence of this highly suspicious) and he 

asked me to dinner Saturday. Appeared so sad and repentant it 

seemed wrong to reject him, so I agreed. In the interest of 

improving work relations, of course. 

"Don't you think you should apologize to Mulder, too?" I asked.

His face tightened for a moment, then relaxed as he answered 

smoothly, "Uh, yes. I'll come down later this afternoon and have 

a word with him."

I smiled, relieved that things would be patched up between them. 

After all, with Tom back in VCS, we'll be working with him 

every now and then. But even still, how will I tell Mulder am 

going out with the enemy?

(4:56 PM)

Definitely a _bad_ idea to suggest Tom come down here to 

apologize. 

Heard a knock on the door and looked up at Mulder, who seemed 

surprised. Got up and answered the door. It was Tom.

"Dana," he nodded in greeting.

"Tom. Come in. I was just, uh, leaving to get some more request 

forms from Transportation." I said lamely and scuttled off to give 

them privacy.

Came back after nervous pacing began to wear on my nerves to 

find Tom storming into elevator. 

"Tom!" I called, but the doors shut before he could answer.

"Can you believe the nerve of that asshole?" Mulder huffed 

behind me. Obvious the meeting did _not_ go well. Hmm... this 

complicates things a bit. Think I'll hold off on telling Mulder 

about the date this weekend. My personal life isn't office 

business, right? Right?

~ Saturday 25 January

Frohike calls gracefully endured: 3, Alcohol units: 8, Krycek 

seductions: 1

Have called Melissa in for reinforcements. Has been v. 

understanding of my plight and offered to help me get ready. Am 

going over to her apartment in an hour to discuss battle plan and 

shop for outfit, as closet holds nothing but half-ruined suits, 

sundress I wore to bar-b-cue at Bill and Tara's last year, clothes 

for lounging around the house and about five cocktail dresses 

from the 80's, reminding me that I once had a life. 

(4:30PM)

Have just come back from afternoon with Melissa. Decided that: 

a) I will not let whatever this is with Tom interfere with 

relationship I have with Mulder

b) Will not get wrapped up in I-have-a-date-_finally_ euphoria, 

as is just an evening between two people who used to be friends 

trying to mend friendship 

c) Will not appear too excited. Will play it cool and confident.

So, I think I'm ready. Found a great dress and splurged on strappy 

Prada heels that cost me a week's salary. But as Missy says, you 

only live once. Saw Krycek, cleverly disguised as delivery man at 

mall, but was not fooled. Flipped hair back and sashayed over to 

man standing next to him to ask for the time, making sure to 

brush against him as I left. Getting bolder in seductions. Really 

must stop.

Am so excited about getting out tonight! God, it's been too long.

(8:45 PM)

Cannot believe this has happened. Have been stood up. It's my 

own fault -- I knew Vile Tom wasn't the same man he was back 

at the Academy, but wanted to give him benefit of the doubt. 

Look where _that's_ left me.

Bastard.

(12:16 PM)

I say screwim. Missy here for girl's nidein. Who needs men? 

Gonna call Muller, as not man, but bedder.

"Mulder."

"Muller! Hey!"

"Scully? Are you drunk?"

"Um, maybee. Can't 'member. But you were right 'bout Vile 

Tom."

"'Vile Tom'?" he sounded amused.

"The oneanonly. Annyway, thas it." Hung up.

Umph! Jus fell off couch.

****************************************************

A/N: The "Krycek Seductions" are inspired by a   

hilarious story I read in the HP fandom, featuring  

"Malfoy Seductions." Here's the title and URL:     

Hermione Granger's Diary by Wonk                   

****************************************************


	2. The Bugman Cometh

Disclaimers, etc. in part one

****************************************************************** 

~ Sunday 26 January

Aleve taken: 3, Trips to the bathroom to purge stomach of solely liquid content: 4, Hangover remedies ingested: 2 (godawful stuff)

(2:30 PM)

Just woke up on kitchen floor. Have horrible hangover, want to die. Oh! Missy's waking up. 

(10:15 PM)

Spent whole rest of day recovering and dissecting contemptible character of Vile Tom at length with Missy. Still feel rejected and a little perplexed, though should have seen this coming. Knew Vile Tom was vile -- what did I expect?

~ Monday 26 January

Stunning career moves: 0, Krycek seductions: 1 (but half-hearted), Number of minutes plotting Vile Tom's demise: 368 

Office. Am over feeling dejected and have moved on to Severely Pissed Off. Is much healthier. How dare he stand me up? Is like high school, when most unattractive boy in school walks up to you in a group before Prom and looks past you to ask your best friend instead. While you never really wanted to be asked, it still hurts when snubbed by sweaty, unappealing geek-boy.

Oh God. What is wrong with *me*? Has life gone so wrong that even the likes of Vile Tom prefers better company? Wonder if excess water retention leftover from time of month is culprit. 

No, must stop this line of thinking. Am responsible, stable woman of substance not to be swayed by minor setbacks -- namely those involving man with "Vile" before his name. Will persevere in plans of career advancement, reuniting with friends, etc. and regain quality of life deserved.

Right. I'll get started now. Just as soon as I finish this bag of éclairs.

                                    ~ February ~

~ Tuesday 4 February

Wilted veggies thrown out: 8, Cornfields ran through: 3, Alien autopsies performed: 1 (smelly, unnatural creatures), Number of times contemplated finding new job: too many to count.

Ugh. Must find new occupation. In the meantime, being out in the field (quite literally) has given me time to think about the Vile Tom Situation. Decided somewhere between cornfield number two and liquefied alien intestines that:

1) Whole mess is blessing in disguise. Have been saved from possible relationship with a complete ass.

And

2) Need to focus not on said mess, but instead direct energy towards maintaining dignity in the workplace -- a particularly difficult feat when one's hand is up alien's bottom.

There. That should do it. 

~ Wednesday 5 February

Frohike calls: 2, Krycek seductions: 0 (progress!), Panic attacks concerning upcoming holiday: about 50 

Ugh. Have just realized dreaded Valentine's Day is less than two weeks away. Who invented concept of Valentine's Day anyway? Who? Am convinced was simpering, wide-eyed youth in full throes of love and devotion. Saccharine sweetness of it is appalling, really. Am boycotting whole affair on principle. 

~ Friday 7 February

Chocolate units: 5 (okay, 15), Number of ideals crushed: 1, Krycek seductions: 0 (who has time when ideals are busy being crushed?)  

Damn Fox Mulder! Was busy typing up report, feeling v. smug and assured in boycott of stupid, commercialized holiday when felt eyes boring into the back of my head. Turned around to find Mulder staring at me with small smile on his face.

"Can I help you?" I asked irritably. Hate it, *hate it* when he stares in this manner, as if plotting something at my expense. Which is usually the case.

"Just thinking," he replied, offering nothing more in way of explanation. By now am:

1) Annoyed

And 

2) Curious.

Returned stare for a few moments with expectant look on face, to which he only smiled wider. Finally, could take it no longer.

"What?" I shouted. "What?"

Grin unbelievably bigger -- had not thought this possible, but clearly have been shown up by Tooms-style person and his amazing elastic mouth. 

Hmm… Spared a moment considering possibilities for such a talent.

Finally, he answered. "Whatcha doin' for Valentine's Day, Scully?"

Humph!

Gathering dignity, squared shoulders and answered airily, "Valentine's Day, Mulder? Don't you think we're above such tedious, silly holidays?"

He just stared at me. Went on, feeling inexplicable need to fill in the silence.

"I mean, just because greeting card and chocolate manufacturers *tell* us we need to celebrate love on the fourteenth of every February, doesn't mean we all need to be mindless slaves to their marketing strategies."

Prepared to launch into second and more comprehensive half of my "Anti-Valentine's Day speech", which had been thoughtfully prepared and repeated at length to self for reassurance when halted by uncharacteristic quirk of partner's eyebrow.

"What?" 

"So… what you're saying is, you don't have a date." 

Humph!

~ Saturday 8 February

Calories: 10,000, Number of times checked answering machine for calls from Vile Tom: 8 (v. bad), Krycek seductions: 0 (what's the point?), Number of dates for stupid Valentine's Day: 0

Have consumed weight in Haagan Dazs. Am too depressed to write.

(6:30 PM)

Oh God, but Mulder just *knew* I didn't have a date. Is it that obvious? Am I emitting some sort of "pathetic and single" signal? Am destined to die alone in this apartment, covered in cats. Won't be found until weeks later when smell drives neighbors to investigate in manner of sad, New York deaths. Oooh! Phone ringing…

(6:43 PM)

Was Vile Tom, apologizing for not showing up for date. 

"Yes, it's been nearly two weeks now, Tom."

"I really am very sorry, Dana. I was called away unexpectedly on a case and only just got back an hour ago."

Two guesses what he said next.

"Let me make it up to you."

Ha!

But no, will be strong. Will not be made a fool of twice. "I don't think it's a good idea, Tom."

"Please? I'll never forgive myself if you go away thinking ill of me."

Then again, it wasn't *his* fault he was called away on a case. I, of all people, should understand that.

"C'mon, Dana. It's just dinner," he teased. Sounds v. cute when he teases. Almost forgot this since has been a long time since our days at the Academy.

"Okay," I whispered before I could question self further. 

"Great! Well, I'll be wrapped up in paperwork after this case, so this weekend is no good. How about Valentine's Day?"

Yeeeeessssssss!!!!!!!!!!! 

~ Monday 10 February

Bureau accountants dodged: 4, Clandestine lunches: 1, Krycek seductions: 1 (am so bad!)

Euphoric today! Random, leggy blonde from secretarial pool accosted Mulder in hall upon entering building, accusing him of being first-rate bastard, very public argument culminating in resounding slap across partner's stunned face. 

I wonder, is it wrong to laugh outright and at length in such a situation? Oh well. 

Began day with review of possible cases, in which Mulder actually discarded some of the more outrageous claims rather than deciding to drag us to the forefront of them. Progress, I'd say. Was v. shocked, but pleased. 

Ran into Tom on way to coke machine, who cornered me in near-deserted hallway. 

"Dana," he purred, grinning. "How…fortuitous, meeting you here." 

"Tom," I returned. Oooh, the man smells incredible. He gestured toward copy room next to machine. Without a thought as to propriety, or the past, I followed him in. 

Emerged fifteen minutes later with smug smile on face. Of course, did not sleep with Tom on top of copy machine in manner of office tramp, but had v. nice make-out session which gave me a lot to think about. Saw Krycek on the way out of copy room, disguised once again in form of UPS man. Looked at me with a kind of respect, no doubt approving of obvious state of affairs. Felt naughty, so fluffed hair and licked swollen lips in unmistakable 'come-hither' gesture, brushing against him 'accidentally' on way down hall, extra sway of hips completing just-shagged look. Caught mesmerized look in his eyes. Especially enjoyed dropped jaw and lustful gaze. Having entirely too much fun at Krycek's expense. 

V. good day in all.

~ Wednesday 12 February

Hmm… v. strange thing happened today. Came home for lunch hour and wasn't home five minutes before there was a knock at the door. Opened to reveal exterminator standing there with clipboard and official-looking expression on face.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"Exterminator, Ma'am. Mind if I come in?" he answered in all-about-business voice, then proceeded to let self in.

Baffled. Why would an exterminator be here? Briefly wonder if this is some sort of ploy set up by poster boy for lung cancer. Laying hand on gun under ruse of scratching back, I told him, "I never called for an exterminator."

"Basic procedure, Ma'am," he told me while having a leisurely look around my apartment. "Just a little preventative action. There's a small pest problem in the building, so every unit gets sprayed."

Fabulous. "Okay, then. But could you make it fast? I've got to leave in about ten minutes."

Stan, as the patch on his uniform announced, looked affronted. "Well, there's no reason to stay," he assured me. "Been in here plenty of times before when you weren't in."

"Excuse me?" I sputtered. Shocked and outraged that management has abused trust in such a manner. Further protests cut off with a raised hand from Stan as he looked around apartment forebodingly, scowling as he scanned the room with his eyes.

"You have German roaches," he said darkly.

"What?!" 

"I can smell the little bastards," he went on, searching the room with frantic whips of his head. Stormed off in direction of kitchen, and I followed, horrified that it could be true -- that I'd been unwittingly harboring roaches. 

"You…you can *smell* them?" 

"Save your questions, Ma'am," he said, never looking at me, then dropped the clipboard on the counter. Eyeing every nook and cranny with suspicion, he stood in the middle of the room with one hand on a canister of spray and another on a line of tube gels, all located in his tool belt-like apparatus around his waist. Am reminded of Old-West-style gunfighter. By now am v. disgusted. Apartment, though kept immaculate, feels dirty and invaded. 

After several minutes of spraying, gelling and trap laying, Stan spent the next twenty minutes regaling me with inner workings of the mating habits, hatching cycles and domesticity of the German roach, along with details on roach feces and sputum, ad nauseum. Lost track of number of times Stan repeated that this particular breed has to be introduced into apartment, as they do not travel from one house to the next unless in someone's purse, clothes or similar. 

Now leaving v. late for second half of workday, appalled and horror-struck. Will sterilize apartment tonight.

(2:56 PM)

V. pissed off right now. Have told Mulder about plight, only to be met with whooping laugher. Wonder how much of a head start would have before officials begin to realize partner is missing.

Hmm…

(8:21 PM)

Something really weird going on here. Have scrubbed every inch of kitchen with strongest bleach solution I can stand, moving appliances away from walls and scouring cabinets and drawers, yet cannot find single sign of infestation. Surely there would be evidence? Am thinking "Stan" is a phony. Will keep lookout and change locks. Must speak to management tomorrow before work.

(10:14 PM)

Phone call from Frohike, disturbing much-needed bath.

"Scully," I sighed into phone, glad have finally gotten into habit of taking cordless with me.

"Hey there, sexy lady."

"Frohike. How are you?"

"Not as good as you, apparently." Sounded hurt.

"What is it, Melvin?" I sighed again, resigned to my fate.

He gasped at my mentioning first name. Had to smile. Could be fun to flirt with little troll once in a while. "Well?" I prodded.

"I saw you and that Tom Colton creep today."

Sat up straight, causing water to splash sides of tub. "What?" Oh God, this is bad. Bad!

Silence.

"Are you in the bathtub?" He asked, changing tacks. 

"Er, yeah."

Did he just groan? 

Heard shuffling and sounds suspiciously like switches being flipped. Could *hear* the leer in his voice.

"My, my. Don't you look fetching today, my beauty."

"Frohike! Do you have a camera in here?!?"

He laughed. "Maybe. You'll never know, will you?"

Outraged at lack of concern for my privacy. Decided to test him and find out truth. Trailed free hand down stomach to submerge beneath bubbles, giving appearance of…well, should be rather *obvious*. 

"What am I doing now?" I breathed into phone.

Strange, broken breathing was only response. Couldn't tell if this was caused by seductive voice or by actual picture. 

"G-gotta go!" he squeaked.

Hung up the phone with huge grin on face. That was too easy.

Though, have to admit, *did* grab towel for coverage before stepping out of tub. Damn Gunmen and their damned surveillance equipment.

~ TBC ~ 

A/N: Thanks for the reviews so far! 

ScullyAsTrinity: Colin Firth…Yum. Perfect Darcy, any way you slice it.

TLWROX: The Krycek seductions are just for my (and Scully's) twisted amusement, since Scully never once showed any interest in Krycek, or vice versa, in canon. Just a little fun. :-)

Byersgal and . (anonymous): Thanks! I'm glad you like it so far. There will definitely be more to come -- gotta finish out the year, after all!

Thank you all so much!   


	3. Valentine's Day of Dooooom

Dana Scully's Diary Part 3/?

By Piper Sargasso

(Disclaimers, etc. in Part 1)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

                                 ************************

                                  Valentine's Day of Dooooom 

                                 ************************

~ Friday 14 February

Wonderful holiday, Valentine's Day. Is time of love and cherubs, roses and proclamations of affection. Wonder what I'll get in the mail today -- or better still, delivered to office! Will have to pass gifts off as from someone else other than Tom, of course. But will be thrilled to see partner eat crow, especially since was so smug the other day about me not having a date. 

Damn! Am late. Can't find pantyhose anywhere, even though must have at least ten pairs. Where have they all gone? Where?

(9:48 AM)

Okay, am at work following jaunt through severe rush-hour traffic and mad dash through Hoover building. Have not had time to buy new pair of pantyhose. 

Interesting, the way Mulder's gaze has been wandering to my bare legs. Evil thought: what if I flash him a bit of skin? Could be more fun than seducing Krycek, at any rate. Must try it out -- in the interest of comparison, of course -- purely for scientific purposes. And…

There! Have done it. Classic leg-cross maneuver. Partner's eyes have indeed popped out of their sockets before quickly returning to file. Cheeks flushed. My, my, my, but this is fun! Must file reaction away for future reference. 

Now will settle into paperwork to pass time until Valentine's gifts arrive. Will mentally practice looking surprised!

(11:13 AM)

Nothing yet.

(11:25 AM)

Still nothing.

(11:33 AM)

Nope.

(11:57 AM)

Oh God. What if nothing comes? Will be just like last four Valentine's Days at office, with nothing to show anyone cares. Am loser. Loser!

(12:01 PM)

Bet Mulder will get something, though. Disgusted with how much stock have put into meaningless bits of paper and water-starved, wilting flowers from corner grocer. Still, it hurts to be the only one in the universe not receiving them. Damn Mulder and his secretarial pool groupies. 

(12:45 PM)

Went to drugstore for pantyhose and white chocolate truffles on lunch break. Wonder -- is white chocolate less fattening than dark? Certainly seems like _should_ be -- lighter color gives appearance of innocence. How could anything that innocuous-looking be fattening? Anyway, have eaten entire bag. 

(1:02 PM)

Still no gift, but found one of those conversational heart candies on top of paperwork saying, "Be Mine."

Had to smile. Mulder gets so silly this time of year. Wonder if it's his way of dealing with inevitable feelings of rejection whole holiday inspires. But no, Mulder has his groupies. Whatever. Will get back to work.

(1:05)

Hmm… Found another heart candy in desk drawer while searching for my cherry-flavored chap stick. This one says, "I'm yours."

Shot Mulder amused stare and returned to paperwork. The man really must get a hobby other than playing with me.

Although…

No! Will not think about Mulder in this fashion. Is work partner and friend, not to mention promise at start of year not to -- Oh, for crying. Out. LOUD!

(1:09 PM)

Was Skinner, asking about Le Croix case closed two months ago. 

"Agent Scully, I'd like you to clear something up for me."

"Yes, Sir?"

A pause. 

"It says here in your report that Justice Le Croix was dead."

"Yes, Sir." Oh God. Here it comes. _Knew_ we got out of it too easy.

Slowly, "That he'd _been_ dead for over three months."

Felt my cheeks flush. "Yes, Sir. That's correct."

Another pause.

"And that even though he was dead, he was somehow able to attack a couple camping at the lake, then evade you and Agent Mulder by running off into the woods."

Silence. 

Pressure. Too. Much. "Yes! Yes! He was a friggin' zombie, okay?!?"

…Well, maybe not.

Took safer route, route guaranteed to _not_ lose me my job. I told him there wasn't sufficient evidence to determine whether or not it even _was_ Justice Le Croix who attacked that night. Never mind that, in fact, there was no doubt in my mind, especially after having spent a lovely afternoon slicing and dicing Mr. Le Croix myself just hours before having to fight him off of my partner. Skinner seemed satisfied with my answer and wished me a good afternoon.

Good afternoon indeed. Where the hell are my flowers???

(1:33 PM)

What the--? Great. Have broken computer. Work has disappeared, leaving nothing but red screen. Now will have to bear sly snipes at my intelligence from _geniuses_ in tech support. 

(1:35 PM)

Message appearing across screen now:

"Drink to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine;

Leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I'll not look for wine…"

Tinny Celine Dion music pipes over computer's sad speaker system to lend a hand to sappy romantics of rest of poem. Sadly, has also drawn partner's attention, who is reading the words as they appear and not bothering to hide amusement.  

"Someone has a crush on you," he taunts in annoying, singsong voice. Am too flabbergasted to respond. Who would be sending this to me? Couldn't be Tom, could it?

(1:50 PM)

Hmm… Found more candy hearts upon returning from rest room, these surrounding my coffee cup to form a request: 

'Kiss me. One kiss. Say you will.'

Shot Mulder a look, who pretended not to notice. V. strange man. Must be careful -- seems to have latent Frohikian tendencies. 

(2:04 PM)

Still no flowers, but another poem has appeared on my screen, this one accompanied by Sarah Maclachlan song about surrendering or something like that:

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"

Oh, brother. Not that Shakespeare isn't lovely, but I hate to think my admirer is so unoriginal as to use two of the most commonly used poems to declare his undying affection. And his choice in music leaves a lot to be desired.

Mulder is once again reading my screen, but this time has glasses on so as to read from the distance between his desk and mine. He is also quoting the sonnet as the words come up in a most dramatic fashion, even clutching his chest as though in the throes of agonizing love. I can't help but laugh heartily at his antics, and he stops to give me a huge grin.

God, he's beautiful when his smiles like that. Mulder in glasses…yum.

(2:12 PM)

Another poem. No music this time:

So well I love thee, as without thee I

Love nothing; if I might choose, I'd rather die

Than be one day debarr'd thy company

Since breasts, and plants do grow, and live and move,

Breasts are those men, that such a life approve:

He only lives, that deadly is in love.

The corn in the ground is sown first dies

And of one seed, so many ears arise:

Love, this world's corn, by dying multiplies.

The seeds of love first but thy eyes were thrown

Into a ground untill'd, a heart unknown

To bear such fruit, till by thy hands 'twas sown.

Look as your looking-glass by chance may fall,

Divide and break in many pieces small

And yet shows forth the selfsame face in all:

Proportions, features, graces just the same,

And in the smallest piece as well as the name

Of the fairest one deserves, as in the richest frame.

So all my thoughts are pieces but of you

Which put together makes a glass so true

As I therein no other's face but your can view.

Lovely poem, am flushed all over. Can see Mulder watching me out of corner of my eye, but this time he doesn't comment. Must go get a drink of water.

(2:24 PM)

Saw Tom in the cafeteria. We didn't speak much; he seemed to be in quite a rush. "See you at seven-thirty, Dana" was the pinnacle of our conversation. 

(2:31)

Have given up on office delivery of flowers, candy, etc. Was foolish to think would get anything anyway, as am not in relationship and am cloistered away in dreary basement office. Who would be interested in pale, alien goo-covered woman smelling of Le Corpse parfum? Am social reject. Want to die.

Ooh! Phone ringing…

Oh God, was Frohike. Accidentally hit speakerphone button when answering.

"Hey there, sexy lady."

Shit! Speakerphone button jammed down into phone -- can't get it out!

"Have you enjoyed the poetry?" 

Damn! Was Frohike all along. Fiddling with button, reply coolly, "It was very nice, Frohike. Thank you."

"Hey, anything for my lovely doc-teur," he drawls on. "I have another one for you, my sweet. I wrote it myself…"

Oh God!

"Of course, feelings of this magnitude cannot be cheapened by typing them on a crusty keyboard. It should be memorized and passed down from generation to generation, like the orators of ancient civilizations. We'll tell our children, and they'll tell their children…"

Oh my GOD!!! Someone, please make him stop. Am now frantic to dislodge the stuck button, but is no use; Mulder is shaking from force of his repressed laughter and Frohike is going on.

Sound of throat clearing. 

"When at first I saw you, my heart was full of joy,

I then knew at that moment, you should be my toy.

You fill my days with sunlight, and fill my nights with sorrow,

I wonder if the day you come to me might be tomorrow."

Mulder's shaking frighteningly seizure-like. Eyes are watering, face reddening. Meanwhile, have shoved pencil into phone in attempt to coax button out, but to no avail. Have succeeded in pushing damn thing further in.

"I see you everywhere, where I've put up my gadgets,

I'll die without you, baby, my body covered in maggots.

How can you be so cruel, my love? How can you be so mean?

To keep your love for others, makes me completely green."

Mulder positively purple from strain, tears streaming down face. Am trying various office supplies to extricate friggin' button, but to no avail. Frohike, oblivious to my horror, goes on:

"Oh, will you ever be mine? Oh, could it ever be?

Could you ever love a man, who is as short as me?

We'd be a perfect fit, dear. We'd match so perfectly,

I can see it all real clear, when will you ever see?"

Mulder lets out whoop of laughter, then shoves fist into mouth to stopper further outbursts.

I've given up. Resigned to my fate, I drop into my chair and wait rest of horrendous poem out.

"And so I pine in misery, waiting for your love,

You're such a beautiful creature, like the winging of a dove.

The angels are not half so fine, and they are not so true,

If it isn't plain by now, I'll say it: I love you."  

Silence. Realize polite thing to do is respond to his lyrical stylings, but am too horrified to speak. Mulder, now blue with effort to bite back laughter, looks at me with pleading eyes to end call. 

"Er, that was very nice, Frohike."

"Please, Dana. I think we should be on a first name basis now, don't you?" 

Another yelp of glee from partner. Will kill him once this is over.

"It is a lovely poem," I force out, "But we're just friends, Frohike. You realize that, don't you?"

Outraged gasp. "What are you trying to say?"

Shit. Knew this day would come, but didn't think it would feel so awful letting the little man down. Am horrible, horrible person.

"Are you giving me the 'let's just be friends' speech? 'Cause I don't need this, baby. It's time you made a decision."

Another yelp from across the room. Shot Mulder death-glare. 

"Frohike," I begin slowly, like talking to insane person brandishing weapon, "Don't you think friendship is important? I for one value our friendship."

Silence, then, "You know what? You're a tease, _Agent Scully_. You should be ashamed of yourself. See ya around, baby. And don't bother calling, begging for me to come back. You don't know what you just lost!" 

  
With that, he slams down phone. Mulder howling with laughter. 

I just want this day to be over.

(3:00 PM)

Oh no. New poem, this one to the tune of that death-march song. Is Annabel Lee -- morbid poem, that. Frohike must hate me now. Not that I don't deserve it. Should never have played around with him.

But then, have always made it clear was never interested in more than just being friends. Is this really my fault? Hmm… Well, feel terrible about whole mess, regardless.

(3:07 PM)

Another one, accompanied by that "Oooh, Barracuda" song:

"April is in my mistress' face,

And July in her eyes hath place,

Within her bosom is September,

But in her heart a cold December."

Ouch. Okay, maybe I do deserve that. Hell, they don't call me the Ice Queen for nothing, right? 

"What did he send this time?" Mulder asked. 

Showed him my screen, at which he frowned. "I'm going to give him a call. I know he's hurt, but this," he gestured at the monitor, "needs to stop before he breaks out the dirty limericks."

Ah, Mulder. Can always count on _him_, anyway.

(4:02 PM)

Oh, praise be to God in the highest, I'm _finally_ out of here! Have knocked off an hour early to get ready for date tonight. Mulder joked about me having a hot date. Funny, looked a little put-off when responded smugly that yes, I did have a date thank you very much. Suppose I should feel bad about snooty response, as possible he looked put-off because he was going it alone tonight, but find it hard to sympathize with _his_ lack of a date tonight, especially since was so haughty about _me_ spending Valentine's Day alone. 

Wait a minute -- maybe he _does_ have a date tonight. Humph. Whatever. 

Found another set of candy hearts lining dashboard as soon as I got into car.

"I love you. Only you. Always and forever."

And then more, lining the gearshift.

"I'm yours. Only yours. Marry me. Say you will."

Grabbed cell phone.

"Mulder."

"You need professional help, you know that?" I informed him.

He just laughed. Amazing, the way men can crack themselves up. Must be nice, needing only oneself to stay amused.

(5:45 PM)

Okay, have plenty of time to get ready. Have already taken long soak in bath, shaved legs (just in case). Of course, once stepped out of bath was chilled and could actually feel hair on legs prickling up. Had to hop back in bath before water drained and shave again. 

Allowing hair to air dry with styling gel finger-combed in. Should give appearance of fresh out of bed, tousled look with minimal effort. At least, that's what Cosmo says. Hope it turns out well as have never tried this before. 

Will have glass of wine to calm nerves.

(6:14 PM) 

Bought frosty-looking makeup that's all the rage with young women the world over. Consulting Cosmopolitan once again, made sure to get the proper colors for redheads. Have headband pushing hair out of way and am ready to apply. Am excited to see how it all turns out!

Hmm… Plenty of time yet. Will settle in to watch a little TV. Should help this wine to soothe my nervousness.

(6:50 PM)

Oh shit!

(7:10 PM)

Oh God. God! Why does this sort of thing always happen to me? Am I doomed to social failure? That's it. Am doomed. Doooomed!

Trendy makeup makes me look like frosted corpse. Am pale enough as it is -- now just pale in a shimmery sort of way. Why do they sell such things? Why? They only look good on models, who have team of professionals to apply and magazine experts to airbrush pictures. I have neither, and am in thirties wearing colors that most teenagers would look silly in. Makeup is ridiculous, will go back to my tried-and-true at once. Right after I get another glass of wine.

(7:26 PM) 

Oh God. Am beauty disaster. Have successfully applied own _regular_ makeup, which looks fantastic. But once took headband off, realized with immeasurable horror that gelled hair has dried into strange, wing-like flips around face where headband had pushed it down. Look like 80's revisited, only slightly less attractive. What's worse -- has not only dried into peculiar, Flock of Seagulls-style flip, but has dried into greasy-looking clumps where gel has lumped together in streaks. Is conspiracy, I swear it. And Tom will be here in less than five minutes.

Oh God, please let him be late like any other male in the universe. Oh shit! Someone's at the door.

(7:41 PM)

Appears God is unavailable for requests tonight as Tom is now seated in my living room, waiting for me to finish. Have gathered hair into hasty ponytail to answer door so unfortunate hairdo will be well hidden.

Sadly, unfortunate hairdo preferable to _this_, sticky hair tangled in elastic band with no alternative than to cut it out. Where are the scissors?

(7:45 PM)

Want to cry. Cannot believe this, have cut out chunk of hair. Not only that, but hair standing on end everywhere -- there's no hope for it. Am sneaking into bedroom to call Missy.

(7:59 PM)

Okay, have managed, on Missy's advice, to secure crunchy hair into low chignon. Is quick fix and will have unbelievable time with tangles later, I'm sure. But at least top is brushed smooth and rest is pulled together. Am heading out door now just as soon as I get shoes on.

Wait a minute… where the hell are my shoes?!?

~ TBC ~

A/N: I'm really sorry about the delay. I had intended this to be updated weekly at least, but due to Christmas and some personal problems which some of you already know about, my writing time has been severely cut back. Thanks for your patience! 

Now, about those poems. Titles and authors here:

1) "Drink to me only with thine eyes…" 

"To Celia" by Ben Jonson

 2) "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" 

Sonnet 18 by William Shakespeare.

3) "So well I love thee, as without thee I love nothing…"

"So Well I Love Thee" by Michael Drayton.

4) "When at first I saw you, my heart was full of joy…"

Frohike's poem, by Frohike.

5) "Annabel Lee" by Edgar Allan Poe. (My all-time favorite)

6) "April is in my mistress' face…"

"April is in My Mistress' Face" (author unknown)

BTW, I happen to like Sarah Maclachlan myself (and Celine's okay).  

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! It makes my day, really. I'm so happy you're enjoying this as much as I enjoy writing it! 


	4. The Lies Men Tell

Dana Scully's Diary Part 4/?

By Piper Sargasso

Disclaimers, etc. in part one.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

*****************

~The Lies Men Tell~

*****************

**~ Saturday, 15 February**

Number of times caught self smiling: 36, Number of times smile wiped off face due to unpleasant memory: 34, Krycek seductions: 2, Phone calls from Tom: 0 (odd)

Last night was wonderful, regardless of hair fiasco. Started out at Tuscana West (absolutely delicious), then went dancing at trendy salsa club

downtown. Will not bother to mention here that I cannot salsa, nor the fact that Tom's feet (and possibly shins, calves and arms) are, no doubt, bruised beyond all recognition.

Was a lovely night though. Couldn't ask for a better Valentine's Day, or a more agreeable companion. 

One small glitch, though -- the goodnight kiss.

It was at my apartment door, at the end of the night -- just where all romantic, end-of-date kisses _should_ be. He brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen out of my clasp and looked deeply into my eyes. As he leaned in, I closed my eyes, chin tilted upward in anticipation of the perfect conclusion to an almost-perfect evening, and…

You know the expression "He kissed me like he was my brother?" Well, he kissed me more like he was the golden retriever I had when I was six -- all tongues and slobber and eagerness. There's just nothing romantic about that.

Why? Why this? It wasn't like this the other day in the copy room! We had so much passion between us, so much fire. What happened? 

Gah. Not a v.g. start to the relationship. Am most perplexed. Worst of all, once finished he asked if he could come inside for a drink. Politely told him I had to get up early in the morning take nephew to the zoo. Astonished and a bit horrified by the ease of which I come up with these lies lately. Nevertheless, it _did_ get me out of fending Rover off for the remainder of the evening.

Will put entire kiss disaster out of mind. Was a wonderful night, after all, and should not dwell on one flaw. Will ruin memory of rest of date.

**(2:46 PM)**

_Was_ disgusting, though. V. off-putting. Perhaps should rethink the whole "Tom" thing.

**(2:50 PM)**

No, am being uncharitable and snooty in the extreme. One small flaw! And he's proven that he can kiss by that delicious display in copy room. Must stop being such a snob.

**(2:52 PM)**

Then again, _why_ should kissing on our date be any different from kissing in the copy room? Is thrill of being caught only thing holding relationship together? Was exciting when hiding attraction from Mulder, etc., and exciting to make out at work like hormonal teenagers. Maybe not sneaking around has sapped away some of the appeal of this…situation. 

Of course, alcohol _was_ involved last night, plus the anticipation of …er, _consummating _our relationship…one could see where the male animal could revert to just that -- an animal.

However slobbering and overeager. 

**(3:38 PM)**

Have called Missy over for emergency advice summit.

"So he drools. Big deal. I once had a guy who grunted every time we kissed -- like a hog or ape or something."

"I'm serious, Missy."

"I am, too! Do you have any idea how distracting it is to feel like you're in bed with King Kong?"

This gave me pause. Surely her situation was much worse. "So? What did you do?"

Flashed me a sly smile and replied, "I played 'Tarzan' with him."

"So what you're saying is…I should play along?"

She nodded. "Make it work for you."

I thought a moment, but none of the scenarios in my mind seemed appealing. "It's no use. All I can think of is to play fetch with the guy."

She grinned from ear to ear. "Now you're talking!"

Really must stop taking advice from Melissa Scully.

**~ Monday, 17 February**

Calories consumed: 5 million (seems like), Crying fits: 3 (am disgusted), Krycek seductions: 1 half-hearted attempt, Murderous thoughts: about 600 (with three well-planned homicidal plots -- one for every time was reduced to tears.) 

**(5:27 AM)**

Oh God. Have woken up from horrid nightmare involving a dog bowl, a leash and the copy room on the second floor of the Hoover. Serves me right for being so preoccupied with Tom and The Kissing Disaster. How shallow have I become? Am disgusted with self. And Tom must have sensed it, poor man. Hasn't called me at all this weekend. Oh well, might as well get up and get an early start to work.

Right after I rest my eyes for a moment.

**(9:45 AM)**

SHIT!!!!!!

**(10:12 AM)**

**Office.** Okay, am officially through with obsessing over Tom's little faux pas. Will call him now to brilliantly 'suggest' another date, all the while making him think it was his idea.

**(10:13 AM)**

Strange. Just got off with Tom, who seemed v. anxious to end call. Could swear I heard muffled laughter in background. 

V. strange indeed.

**(11:55 AM)**

Am so bored. Mulder left over twenty minutes ago, and I have no one to talk to. Refuse to call Tom again; can't go off looking desperate, now can

I? Paperwork to do. Blah. Hate tediousness of paperwork, stretching into an infinite wasteland of--

Oh! Here's Mulder now. 

**(12:13 PM)**

Hmm… Nodded significantly at stack of files on his desk as he sat down, as to suggest that I had been here working all along, and, hadn't you better get started, too? It was then that I noticed he was scowling.

"What?" I asked. 

He clenched and unclenched his fists and closed his eyes for a moment as though trying to regain some composure. "Nothing. I just…had a run-in with Tom Colton." He said, as if this explained everything. 

Admittedly, in the past that _would've_ explained everything. Tom was the butt of many inside jokes between Mulder and I, and the fact that the three of us didn't get along was a given. Therefore, a run-in with Tom Colton (though previously on the phone -- before his transfer back to DC) could only mean an unpleasant conversation was had. No more need be said.

That was before, of course. Am more invested now and anxious for the details. 

"Tom Colton, huh?" I asked, trying to sound bored and uninterested. "What did he have to say?"

Mulder's jaw tightened. "Nothing important."

Well, that was that. I know better than to press the issue when he has that homicidal look in his eye. Am v. disappointed in Tom, though. I thought he was trying to get along with Mulder, not goad him into hating him more. If such a thing is even possible.

An uncomfortable silence stretched after his last words, which was at last interrupted by the phone ringing.

"Mulder," he grunted into the receiver. He said nothing more until the end of the call, which he ended with an abrupt, "I'll be right there."

"Skinner?" I asked.

"Yeah." He snatched his coat off the back of his chair.

I started to rise. "Let me grab that file he wanted before we go."

"No, he just wants me."

I frowned. "Why?"

"'Informal disciplinary meeting,' I believe were the exact words." And before I could ask what he was being disciplined for _this_ time, he was already out the door.

V. strange. Am usually present for all of Mulder's blatant displays of disobedience. What kind of trouble could he have gotten himself into in the twenty or so minutes he was gone getting request forms? 

Oh, no. Sense of doom settling in pit of stomach. Realized that when he returned, he was empty-handed. Either he never made it to get the forms, or got into another tiff with the smart-asses in Transportation.

Damn. Well, will wait for Mulder's return and take a late lunch.

**(12:45 PM)**

Okay, still not back. 

**(12:57 PM) **

Nope, not yet. What's going on?

**(1:30 PM)**

Okay, have occupied myself with filing and light paperwork, but Mulder still has not returned. Am famished. Will pop out for a quite bite and get back as fast as possible.

**(2:01 PM)**

Office empty, but there is evidence that Mulder came back. Files he was studying earlier now gone, and trench coat missing. Appears he has left for the day.

**(2:13 PM)**

V. strange. Mulder isn't picking up home phone or cell. Wish I knew what was happening here.

**(7:20 PM)**

Oh God. I can't believe this. Went over to Mulder's apartment after work, a bit worried by unusual events of the day. He wouldn't open the door, but heard TV going. Worry overrode respect for his privacy, so I used my key to get in.

Was sprawled out on couch with beer in his hand and eight empty beer bottles on messy coffee table.

"Jesus, Mulder."

"What do you want?"

Was taken aback. "I…I just wanted to see if you're okay."

Waved hand dismissively. "I'm okay, I'm okay."

"Doesn't look like it."

"Did you come here just to nag me, Scully? I said I'm fine."

Took a seat next to him, noting that he reeked of yeast. "What happened, Mulder?"

Looked at me with narrowed eyes, as if appraising me, then turned away to take a swig from his bottle. "I'm suspended for three days."

Sighed. "For what?"

"What difference does it make? Skinner says I get a three day vacation and I have no choice but to take it."

"Yes, but how did you manage to earn yourself another suspension?"

Turned sharply to face me. "You're infallible, right? Responsible adult, dutiful agent." He reached over to flick the lapel of my jacket. "Sensible clothing. You don't make mistakes, do you? Don't answer that," he laughed bitterly. "Of course you don't make mistakes. Not the perfect. Dana. Katherine. Scully."

Was horrified by his behavior. "What's gotten into you?"

"I think the question is, what's gotten into _you_. Or should I say, _who_?"

"What?" I gasped.

He grabbed my arms. "Tell me you didn't do it, Scully. Tell me that perfect Dana Scully didn't screw up so majorly."

"I don't know what you're talking about! You're scaring me."

"Tom Colton."

Oh my God.

"Overheard an interesting conversation on my way to Transportation. Seems ol' Tommy Boy got lucky Friday night."

Oh my GOD.

"So that was your hot date, huh? Well? Don't you have anything to say?"

I jerked out of his grasp. "I don't know what the hell  you're talking about."

He laughed again, the same bitter laugh as before. "It adds up, Scully. The long coffee breaks, the 'errands' you suddenly have to run. I didn't see it before, but I do now."

Took a deep breath. "Just tell me what happened today."

He was silent for so long, I thought he wasn't going to answer. Then, "I heard him bragging to some guys in the bullpen how he nailed the Ice Queen. Got pretty graphic. So I nailed _him_ -- right in the bastard's nose."

Couldn't speak. Was like nightmare where you scream at the top of your lungs, but nothing more than a weak whisper comes out.

"You know the worst part? I thought I was defending your honor. I was happy to take the punishment. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I've been a fool."

"Mulder, I--"

"Just go, Scully. I can't… Just, go."

Oh God. I've ruined everything. 

And Tom Colton has ruined me.

TBC

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! You've made this writing experience so much fun. Thank you for that.


	5. Losing It

Dana Scully's Diary

Part 5/?

By Piper Sargasso

Headers in part one.

*************************************

**~ Tuesday 18, February**

_Chocolates: 6 (to placate nerves), Fantasies involving Vile Tom's complete destruction: 362, Humiliating trips to AD's office: 1, Newfound allies: 1 (v.g.)_

Toyed with idea of not coming in to work today. Yes, is cowardly. But my humiliation is absolute. 

However, _did_ come in. Walk from lobby to elevator excruciating, as was subject of much attention. Never cared much for gossip, but care even less to be *focus* of gossip. 

Damn Tom Colton for doing this to me.

**(10:15 AM)**

Was called to Skinner's office by Skinner himself -- a rarity. Didn't want to leave safe haven of dump we call an office but realized is asking a bit much to expect superior to come to _my _office, rather than other way around. Would have spared me the further humiliation of walking through the bullpen, though, amid not-so-subtle whispers and transparent attempts to point me out to other evil gossipmongers.

"He'll see you now, Agent Scully," Kimberly said with sympathetic smile as I closed the door the Skinner's outer office. 

"Thank you." 

"Agent Scully?"

Stopped with hand just on door knob. 

"I know it isn't appropriate for me to be saying this, but I just want you to know I think Tom Colton is a real asshole. I wouldn't believe a single word that comes out of his mouth."

Felt warmth spreading through me at the woman's candid words. Here is someone I've never spoken a word to that wasn't work related, yet she was lending me her moral support. Smiled gratefully and went inside.

"Agent Scully," Skinner began solemnly with a nod. "Please take a seat."

Sat there for several silent moments, trying not to squirm under intense stare Skinner pinned me with. Was like being under microscope. 

_Don'tsquirmdon'tsquirmdon'tsquirm._

Man has certain talent for making anyone in that seat uncomfortable. Suddenly, one begins to feel guilt creeping on them; no one is innocent under that stare. Misdeeds from childhood pop up out of nowhere, and you feel the shame afresh. The fact that you didn't wash your hands after using the bathroom before coming in to his office is brought to mind, and you recall with dread that last week you swiped an extra box of pens from Supply while everyone's backs were turned.

Stare was beginning to wear me down. Shifted in seat. Damn, a sign of weakness. Just as I was about to confess to half a dozen things I didn't even do, he began to speak. Much to my relief.

"Agent Scully, I called you in here to discuss the -- issues -- between you and Agents Colton and Mulder."

Or, much to my dismay. 

"Er, yes."

"I don't need to know about your personal life, Agent, that's not why you're here. However, I'm disappointed to find that one of my most responsible and reliable agents has decided to air her personal business here at work. Frankly, I never would have expected it from you."

Was horrified. "What?"    

"The whole bullpen is buzzing. What you and Agent Colton do outside of the job should _stay_ outside of the job. And then this business with Agent Mulder… "

Couldn't believe it. Was being _reprimanded _for this? 

"Sir, with all due respect,  you have no idea what's going on."

Fixed me with another stare. 

"Well? Enlighten me," he barked.  
"First of all, I'm not the one spreading these lies about myself. Tom Colton is," I spat the name. "I went to dinner with him on Valentine's Day and left him at my front door. The next thing I know, my name is being slandered all over the building and my partner is suspended"

Skinner's face set into a grim line. "I see. Agent Mulder didn't inform me of these events."

Was floored. 

"He…He took the suspension without explaining himself?" Could not imagine _why_ he would do such a thing.

Skinner stabbed the call button on his phone. 

"Sir?" Kimberly's disembodied voice answered.

"Get Agent Colton in here. Now." He barked the last. Can honestly say Mulder and I have been on receiving end of his anger more than any other agent in the building. Have recently come up with a system which categorizes level of his anger on a scale of "mildly irritated" to "barely suppressed rage." Makes it easier to gauge just what we're in for from the moment we step into his office. Judging by the veins throbbing in his temples, I'd say he was bordering on "unmitigated wrath." Scary.

Skinner looked down at his hands, which were folded on his desk. "I apologize for the undue reprimand, Agent Scully."

I nodded. "What happens to Mulder now?"

"He'll be reinstated with my apologies and his record expunged. Of this _recent _disciplinary action, that is."

"I just can't understand why he would accept punishment without explaining himself," I said, more to myself than to Skinner. 

But he looked thoughtful for a moment and then replied, "Maybe he was still trying to protect you."

Hmm…

When I walked out of office, saw Vile Tom sitting on couch, waiting for Skinner and shifting uncomfortably under Kimberly's withering glare. (Was satisfied beyond reason to see that Mulder had broken the arrogant bastard's nose!) Walked past him without comment but with graceful purpose, rejoicing in the fact that he was about to bear the brunt of decades of military and FBI-trained authority.

Vile Tom was in for a treat. 

**~ Wednesday 19, February**

Cups of coffee consumed: 8,  Fantasies involving watching Mulder pound Vile Tom's face: 62, Krycek seductions: 1 (am improving), Frohike calls: 2

**(7:31 AM)**

Oddly nervous about today. Will be the first time seeing Mulder since horrid incident in his apartment and am not sure of his reception. Cannot imagine what he must think of me. Have lied and consorted with the enemy, giving said enemy fodder for spreading lies and, therefore, giving partner reason to smash in enemy's remarkably ugly nose. 

One _could_ surmise that Mulder's suspension was my fault. 

But, of course, is ridiculous! Mulder alone is responsible for his actions, as I am for mine. Could not have predicted would escalate into this atrocious spectacle! Only goal was to have a little fun, to try and regain some of semblance of a life which has eluded me in the past few years. Where's the harm in that?

**(9:02 AM)**

Hmm… Mulder's not here. Must be running late.

**(9:36 AM)**

Still not here. Will call Kimberly to ask if Mulder has been told he's to come back on duty today.

**(9:40 AM)**

Interesting. Kimberly confirmed that Mulder was called yesterday, but is using a sick day today. Maybe he just needs another day to cool off. Will give him space and let all this work out in it's own time.

V. odd, though. Mulder _hates_ to miss work. Can't recall a time where he voluntarily took a day off; even when he wasn't at the office, he was off investigating something. Must be more upset about this than I thought.

**(3:45 PM)**

Mind-numbing day interrupted when heard a knock at office door. 

"Come in," I shouted. 

Was typing up expense report, so didn't spare more than passing glance at the maintenance man who entered with ladder. 

"Yeah, I'm here to replace your light fixture," the man said in heavy Bostonian accent. 

Waved in general direction of broken light above. Has been most irritating lately, turning itself off and on so much Mulder believed a spirit was responsible. Humph! Anyway, have been working off other lights in office, but is depressing to have so little illumination, so I called for a replacement today. Was grateful for uncharacteristic promptness.   

"I'm glad you're here. It's been giving us trouble for two weeks now," I told the man, who had his back turned to me while setting up ladder. Went back to typing.

Was trying to figure out how to justify spending $300 on oatmeal and peat moss on recent case when maintenance man cleared his throat and announced:

"Yeah, this fixture is pretty much fried." 

Paused, mid-keystroke. Accent was pure Massachusetts, but the voice was familiar. V. familiar. Looked up to see the man watching me from the ladder through black-rimmed eyeglasses. Coveralls bore the name "Drew", but something about his stance -- even on the ladder -- and the cocky smirk on his face as he looked at me told me otherwise.

Alex Krycek, I presume?

Felt knowing smile creep across my face. He responded in kind with a snort and even wider, cockier smirk before going back to work.

Oh, yes. Gotcha, Gaspadin Krycek.

Have to wonder about motivation. He's no fool -- he would know I would recognize him in an instant. Why not send out a nameless, faceless goon like always? And upon recognizing him, he must've known would _never_ trust anything he's installing. Obvious conclusion is that he _wanted_ to be recognized. Cannot fathom why.

Forgot all about report. Leaned back in chair with one arm draped over back of seat and re-crossed legs, openly staring at him while nibbling in a seductive nature on end of pen. Couldn't help myself. Was satisfying to see him try to keep up appearance of working on task at hand while taking glances at me out of the corner of his eye.  

Within minutes, all pretense of work was given up and Krycek was staring at my mouth with a keenness that made my heart rate quicken. Damn, but the man is unreasonably sexy when he's turned on. We ogled each other shamelessly. Couldn't help but wonder what he wanted, coming in here like this. Speculated (and didn't dare to analyze _why_) what it would be like if he would come down from that ladder and back me up against the wall to have his way with me. Oooh, am getting goose bumps just thinking about it again. Experience would earn me entire page in Playgirl's 'Erotic Encounters': "How I Seduced an Alien Conspirator Four Floors Beneath My AD's Office." 

Just as he licked his lips (oooh, delicious) and looked like was about to speak, the phone rang. Ignored it, but was supremely irritated with interruption. 

*_Ring. Ring. Ring_.*

Couldn't peel our eyes off each other. Pulled pen out of mouth to lick own lips when Krycek quirked an eyebrow. 

"Are ya gonna answer that, Miss?" Still in that accent. My, my. It seems our little spy likes to role play. Filed that tidbit away for future reference.

Moment soon gone, however, when phone stopped ringing and began again, seconds later. Picked up the phone in a huff.

"Yes?" I hissed into receiver.

"Hey there, Sexy Mama."

"It's not a good time, Frohike."

A pause. "It's never a good time, is it _Dana_," he bit out. 

Sighed. Never wanted to hurt the little guy's feelings. Glancing up at Krycek, I saw he'd gone back to replacing the fixture. Is for the best, should be glad of the interruption. Have been playing a dangerous game, really. 

"Look, I'm sorry. I really am. It's just been an awful week and --"

"Hey, don't sweat it, Darlin'. Let me tell you about the week _I've_ had…"

Proceeded to talk my ear off about computer glitches and problems infiltrating an Air Force base somewhere in the Midwest (would not disclose exactly which one). Was regaled with tales of Byers begging off on cleaning the toilet and the bickering between Frohike and Langly. Knew this was his way of saying everything was okay between us and was strangely grateful for it. 

By the time I got off the phone, Krycek was carrying the ladder out with no more than a nod goodbye. 

**(6:23 PM)**

So happy to be home. Such a tedious day of paperwork and filing and -- 

Oooh! Phone's ringing.

Was Frohike again.

"What's going on with Mulder?" He asked without preamble.

Frowned. "What, he hasn't spoken to you guys?"

"No, no. He isn't answering his phone, but we can see he's at home."

Felt first tingles of a headache coming on. Pinched bridge of nose. "Please tell me you guys haven't set up video surveillance in his apartment."

"Only in the living room and kitchen!" came his indignant reply. 

"And what about _my_ apartment, Frohike?"

Silence.

"Well?"

"Um, no. We don't have anything in your apartment." Sounded less than convincing.

Have checked every square inch of bedroom and bathroom for bugs and cameras. Can only imagine what sort of peepshow have been giving those perverts.

**~ Thursday 20, February**

_Cups of coffee: 10, Times filed nails: 2, Calls to the Gunmen for no reason at all: 3, Krycek Seductions: 0 (astounding!)_

**(9:25 AM)**

Is obvious Mulder is not coming in again. Calling Kimberly again, just to be sure.

"Assistant Director Skinner's office."

"Hi, Kimberly, it's Agent Scully."

"Agent Scully, hello! Can I help you with something?"

"Yes, actually. I wondered if Agent Mulder has taken another sick day, by any chance."

Wincing now. Sound like suspicious wife, and hate that. Is so unlike me. Kimberly doesn't seem to think anything of it, though, and tells me he has indeed taken a sick day. I thank her and hang up, thoroughly confused.

Why is Mulder still avoiding me? Why? Surely he must have cooled off by now.

**~ Friday 21, February**

Minutes stewing over partner's stubbornness: 240, Krycek seductions: 0 (am perfect, saint-style person), Alcohol units: 2 (okay, 8)

**Office.** Am over Mulder's childish avoidance tacks. Have called several times and even dropped by apartment to see what's going on with him and nothing. Not a return phone call or a message telling me to piss off -- nothing. The more I look at his empty desk, the angrier I become. Will pop out for an early lunch and come back…whenever I damn well please! If he thinks all the grunt work will be done for him whenever he decides to return, he's got another thing coming to him! Have already done my fair share, plus at least half of his. 

Humph!

**(5:31 PM)**

Hmm… Interesting. Was gathering files to leave promptly at five o'clock when there was a knock at the door. Heart raced, thinking it could be Krycek again. 

Was Kimberly, of all people. She wanted to know if I'd like to go out for a drink later tonight with Amber, another assistant. Looked at Mulder's empty desk for the thousandth time today and told her that I would love to come.

Am meeting them at Café St Ex at 8:00. Should be nice to have a "girl's night out" again. Haven't done it since I graduated from the Academy. Am a bit excited!

**(12:58 AM)**

Was blurry great time, mus do it again. Love Kimmy, love Amber. Love little avation mapsa lover place. Is planes. Can't stop laughin abour Vile Tom getting it but goodin Skinner's office. Oh, shit! Left my cars in the purse. 

Shit! Dubble shit!

Ooof! Fell again. Oops.

TBC   

A/N: _Gaspadin _Means "Mister" in Russian. Thanks to Logan for finding that out for me! 

And thanks to all of you who have reviewed! You're keeping me going here, and I really appreciate that. vbg


	6. Getting Some Back

Dana Scully's Diary

Part 6/?

By Piper Sargasso

Headers in part one

********************************************************

***********************

**~ Getting Some Back ~**

***********************

**~ Sunday 23, February**

_Times vowed to quit drinking: 6,  Number of phone calls to Mulder: 3 (all unanswered), Number of times scrubbed bathroom: 3 (always helps when I'm upset. V. strange.)_

Spent whole of yesterday nursing severe headache. Am convinced was brought on by all this stress am going through, rather than the eight Singapore Slings consumed Friday night. 

Was fun, all in all. Really must do it again. Kimberly is great, though don't think Amber quite warmed up to me. Have sneaking suspicion she's another of Mulder's conquests, and therefore, not v. appreciative of my presence. Nevertheless, can recall in appalling detail pronouncing my unending friendship and newfound love for the woman. Am thinking should never drink again, since can't seem to keep from thoroughly embarrassing self. 

Small details keep coming to me, of what Kimberly said regarding Vile Tom's plight in Skinner's office. Was much shouting and menacing remarks on Skinner's part, am told. Believe her exact words were, "He went ballistic on that creep." 

Hurrah! Walter Skinner is my new hero. Kimberly said when Vile Tom emerged from office, was shaken and pale.

God, what I wouldn't have given to see that... 

**(2:48 PM)**

Humph! Have called Mulder to see if he's planning to show up for work tomorrow, also to see if he'd like to go to dinner. Would like to clear up this misunderstanding. Cannot believe stubborn silence and disinterest in hearing me out has gone this long, but then, Mulder was never known for his communication skills wherever I'm concerned. Unless, of course, a conspiracy or X-File is involved.

This is somehow worse than before. Can't even be bothered to pick up the phone? Have had it with his childish behavior. 

**(3:24 PM)**

Finally got a call, but wasn't Mulder. Caller ID displayed "unknown name, unknown number," which can only mean the Gunmen. Sighed and picked up phone anyway, thinking they might have some news.

"Hello."

"Heya, Chickadee."

"Frohike."

"Don't sound so excited."

"Actually," winced at what was about to say, "I was hoping you'd call."

"Missed me, huh?" he said cheekily. "Can't say I'm surprised. I am at your service, m'lady."

Rolled eyes. "Pshaw. You're nuts, you know that? What do you know about Mulder? Is he still at home?"

Heard uncomfortable shifting on other end. "Yeah, he's still there. Look, Darlin', he's really pissed at you right now."

Huffed in irritation. "Yes, I've gathered that. Yet he isn't making it very easy for me to explain the situation, now is he?" Felt self getting angry.

"Well--"

"And how dare he, anyway? As if I _should _explain myself to him! He's not my husband, you know. I don't need to _answer_ to him. And I never asked him to hit Vile Tom in the first place."

"Vile Tom?" he laughed.

"Nothing happened between us. Everyone knows Vile Tom is a liar, and if they don't it's because they have their heads too far up his ass to see it for themselves!"

Took several deep breaths, embarrassed. "Sorry."

"Hey, it's okay," he said softly. "Just let him cool off and everything will get back to normal. Then, if you still want to, you can tell him what really happened. For what it's worth, I told Mulder he was insane to think you would keep this from him out of spite. I know you had your reasons."

Could've hugged the dear little man! At least _someone_ is in my corner. 

"So… What kind of underwear are you wearing?"

Hmm… maybe not.

** ~ Monday 24, February**

Number of partners: 0, Number of times called (non-existent) partner: 0 (wouldn't give him the satisfaction), Number of stunning career moves embarked on in partner's absence: - 0 (v. v. bad decision has been made.), Violent fantasies involving Vile Tom's utter demise: 38, Alcohol units: 4 (but in-flight, so is okay.)

**(10:01 AM)**

Still no Mulder. Am incensed -- is obvious he's using sick days to ride out time of his suspension. What? Why? I don't understand. Suppose he thinks he's making a point. 

No matter, have decided to strike back! No more little white gloves for _this_ agent. Am taking a case out of Mulder's "B.S." bin -- a case even Spooky himself was ready to toss in the trash. Is a ridiculous case, really, slightly reminiscent of the one we took Florida with the carnies. Only there are no deaths. And no escaped, conjoining, murderous twins. Reading the casefile, am struck with overwhelming need to laugh. Reads like a script for "Scooby Doo and the Haunted Tilt-O-Whirl."  ****

Plan to be out of town for remainder of work week. Warms my heart to know Mulder will have to sit here while I go off on _my_ own for a change. Take that! Har har.

Oooh! Must dash. Plane leaves in three hours.

**(7:07 PM)**

Oh, God. What have I gotten myself into?

**~ Tuesday 24, February**

Minutes skin has spent crawling: upwards of 672, Time spent plotting Vile Tom's demise: 0 (who has the time?), Time spent plotting Arrogant git of a partner's demise: 825 (ah, always have plenty of time for that) 

Oh, God. This was _definitely_ a bad idea. Started out strange and just got gradually worse. Have been pawed by the Elephant Woman and shuffled off onto the Tilt-O-Whirl against my will, which started up and spun at high velocity. Was sick all over ground afterwards, as carnies gathered in a circle and watched.

"So, whaddya think, Ma'am?" The talker (have been told is incorrect to call them 'barkers' now) for Penguin Man (who, by the way, really _does_ look like a penguin) asked. The others stared in silence.

Was mortified to be puking guts up while others congregated, as if was some spectacular event. Straightened and tried to maintain some semblance of dignity. "Er, yes. Well, is it supposed to be that fast?" Fought rising bile back down.

The man spat on ground and seemed to ponder the question. "Well, Ma'am, I'd say no." Looked at godawful contraption with look between awe and respect. "I expect that ride's haunted." 

Great. V. helpful. Had to remind self more than once that was _my_ brilliant idea to take this case on. Damn it all! 

Was semi-forced to have dinner with everyone in a tent rather than go back at motel, where I could die of humiliation in peace. Was v. interesting -- found out facts about lycanthropes never would've known. However, one calling himself "Wolfman" (how original) seemed intent on convincing me in great detail how many of them get extra frisky just before the full moon. Edged away, a bit miffed on behalf of people suffering this disease the world over. 

Was squashed between "Wolfman" and a female contortionist named, strangely enough, Vernon. Woman has tiniest teeth I've ever seen, much like a piranha, and the face of Arnold Schwartzenegger. Uncanny resemblance, really. Wore an all-white body leotard, which accentuated painfully skinny, but agile body. Was horrified just after a dwarf called "Stumpy" served us all and felt Vernon gazing at me. Turned to see what she wanted and was met with lustful stare.

Will NOT mention where she put her hand under the table later in the meal. Am blocking it out of mind as I write this.

Wonder, is getting back at Mulder worth this?

**(11:39 AM)**

Oh God. Wilson (the talker for the Penguin Man) has just stopped by to give me romantic advice.

"Look, I know you're this big time FBI agent and you'll be gone in a couple-a days."

Was confused but nodded, trying to figure out where the hell was going with this.

"Right. Here's the thing -- Vernon's a sensitive soul. Be gentle with 'er. She gets her heart broken so easily." Patted my hand, wiped tear from corner of his eye and left.

Oh. My. GOD.

That's it. Am going back to DC tomorrow.

**(2:24 PM)**

Okay, have endured goo-goo eyes from Vernon all day while attempting to figure out what's going on with their…god, it pains me to even _write_ it…_haunted_ ride. Not only that, but entire acrobat act seems to have been enlisted in the effort. Was doing flips and all manner of tumbling around the three of them who carried her in the center while she held a sign with the v. large letters "F.B.I" written in gold glitter. Sat there for an hour with expressionless face as they tumbled around her and I attempted to ignore whole spectacle. Was v. creepy.

I need a drink. Will go back to motel, take a hot bath and find a decent bar as soon as I can prove this is mechanical failure of some sort. 

**(9:30 PM)**

Aggghhh!!!!!!!!!!

Found only bar in town and settled in for nice Cosmopolitan when who should appear but Vernon! Sat on stool next to me and stared as I uncomfortably attempted to sip my drink and ignore her attentions. Didn't say a word -- has NOT said a word to me at all, in fact. Was even in her regular attire of white body leotard, only with a pink marabou-trimmed housecoat. Left as soon as drink was finished and got the hell out of there.

Am putting chair up against doorknob in motel room as added precaution.

**~ Wednesday 25, February**

_Tears of joy: a million (all metaphorical), Number of partners: 1, Number of words spoken between partner and self: 2 (troubling)_

Sighed in relief as I plopped down into my wonderful chair in our glorious, wondrous office. Love this place. Love makeshift desk and jars of questionable things in formaldehyde and stupid "I Want to Believe" poster on wall. 

Humph. Seems Mulder finally made it back. Didn't speak to me as I entered the room and made myself comfortable, but raised an eyebrow in question. 

"Don't ask," I told him, and settled in to print report off my laptop. 

God, it's great to be back. 

TBC! 

**A/N:** The phrase "No more little white gloves" comes from "All I Wanna Do." Cute movie. Again, thanks to Logan, this time for helping me remember where I got the quote from. 

And as always, thanks to all of you who have reviewed/sent feedback! I never dreamed so many people would like this story, but I'm incredibly glad you do.  


	7. Declaration of Independence

Dana Scully's Diary

Part 7/?

By Piper Sargasso

Headers in Part One.

*********************************

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Declaration of Independence 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**~MARCH~**

**~ Thursday 2, March**

Chocolate units: 2 (contraband hidden in briefcase and eaten on the sly), Alcohol units: 0 (v. good), Stunning career moves: - 0 (will be paying for 'carnie' incident for years to come), Late videos: 3 (all soppy, pre-Vile Tom breakdown romances. Bah.)  

**Office.** Things have become rather quiet around office, upsettingly so. Mulder has not spoken a word to me that isn't work-related in some way, and even then he says as little as possible. When he must look at me, it's as if he's looking straight through me. Yet every once in a while I catch him staring, and wonder if he even realizes he's doing it. Sometimes he looks so sad. Sometimes he just looks angry and disgusted. Disappointed. 

Am heartbroken. Mulder means the world to me and it hurts to see he seems to think so little of me now. Still, a part of me wonders why he's taking the Vile Tom thing so personally! It isn't as if Mulder and I are a couple, for God's sake. Realize the damage Vile Tom has done to Mulder in the past -- and it was minimal, in the grand scheme of things. Really all he did was insult him in the same manner to which we are accustomed; he did nothing that hasn't been done to us time and again. I've seen Mulder being friendly to agents who have done more harm to us in the past, seeing that they've come around to respect us, even if they still didn't believe in our work. What makes Tom _sodding_ Colton so different?

Just don't know anymore. My thoughts have been spinning out of control of late; no sooner do I think I can lay a finger on the problem than it flits out of reach. I can't make sense of anything.

One thought persists, though: if Mulder and I aren't involved, then why is he behaving like a jealous boyfriend? Is baffling.

**(1:12 PM) **

Wonderful, exciting news! Have, admittedly, abused authority and misused federal equipment by having employed contact up in Quantico to attempt to track down former best friends Meredith and Anya. It's been two weeks since I called in the favor and had forgotten all about it with everything that's been going on.

Am happy to find that attempt was successful! Agent Abercrombie was able to at least find Anya through NCIC. Will give her a call this afternoon. Have been so excited by prospect of reuniting that have barely had time to notice Mulder's cold shoulder all afternoon.

**(5:52 PM)**

Got in touch with Anya. Cannot believe incredible luck! She is still v. close to Meredith and they meet no less than three times a month. Have arranged to meet them both at Miss Saigon for Vietnamese Saturday afternoon. Can't wait! Have so much to catch up on.

Hmm… wonder if should leave out particulars of my job for the time being.  

Definitely yes, I think. 

**~ Friday 3, March**

Alcohol units: 2, Calls from Frohike:1, # of boyfriends: 0, Chocolate units: 3 (everything in moderation today, is v. good), Men pressed against my wall: 0 (but unfortunately NOT a good thing.)

**(6:33 PM)**

A v. upsetting thing has happened. Returned from grocery store to find Stan the bug man in my living room. Is v. disconcerting as have changed locks and informed management of building that no one but partner is to enter my apartment while am away. Put bags on table and reached for gun.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded.

"Exterminator, ma'am."

"Don't give me that crap. Who sent you?"

Looked sulky. "Georgetown Pest Control. Really, ma'am, do you think the gun is necessary?"

Pushed him against wall and frisked him, pretending not to notice he was leaning into my hands as though enjoying the attention. Creepy. V. creepy. Turned him around to face me as soon as I was satisfied he was carrying nothing more dangerous than ant bait.

"I never called for an exterminator," I told him. "And I don't want anyone in this apartment unless I invite them in myself."

He swallowed hard. 

"Why do you keep coming here?"

"Pest control, ma'am." Was visibly sweating. "You've, uh, got a German roach problem. You're infested!" he squeaked out the last.

Narrowed eyes in what I hope was menacing fashion. "I. Don't. Have. Roaches!"

"Look here, now -- you're in denial! I can smell 'em," he said knowingly. "They're here, hiding like the little bastards they are."

Was speechless. Level of insanity in my life has risen to epic proportions. How did I come to this? What have I done to attract all the Vernons and Stans in my life? Allowed Stan to spray once again for the non-existent roaches he insists are there. Was too bewildered to stop him. Will think of it as a preventative measure, rather than admit the fact that am too dazed to even halt the lunacy in my world. 

Is this what I have come to?

**~ Saturday 4, March**

_Alcohol units: 9, Chocolate units: 15 (Hershey's kisses are blissfully delicious with beer), Perverted Frohike calls: 2, Reunions with Feminist roots: 1 (Hurrah!), New resolutions added: 2 (am v. proud of self)_

Leaving to meet the girls in a few minutes. Is so exciting! Anya told me yesterday she lives in Fairfax, so she's pretty close, but Meredith is living just outside of Richmond in New Kent county. I wondered at that -- she was always such a city girl. Never expected her to go rural.

Makes me wonder about them both. How much have they changed? How much have _I _changed, come to that? If I think about it, am completely different person than was in college. Is depressing in many ways.

Oooh! Must dash. 

**(4:20 PM)**

Euphoric! Had a wonderful time reuniting. Was a little late, but Anya and Meredith were later. Was reassuring -- maybe they hadn't changed much after all. Was slyly checking out man sitting three tables away when they breezed inside and caught sight of me. Couldn't suppress giddy feeling.

"Dana!" Meredith exclaimed. 

Jumped out of seat and hugged my old friend. She still looks as incredible as she did in school. Angelic face surrounded by a trendy, honey-colored cut. Big, glassy blue eyes. She used to reel 'em in with her sweet appearance. They never knew what hit them.

"Okay, okay. Stop hogging the woman, Mer!" Anya broke in. I laughed and embraced her next. Anya was, and is still, Meredith's polar opposite. The brooding one, the feminist poet. She looked much the same, too, with her long, dark hair cascading in wild waves to the middle of her back and her startling green eyes. Where Meredith has always been beautiful in the classic sense, Anya has always been stunning in a fiercely exotic way. 

I picked up a strand of Anya's hair. "Still dyeing, I see," I teased. She always hated it whenever anyone would even _suggest_ that her hair might not be natural. 

"I am _not_ some bimbo for Clairol, thank you very much!" she used to say, then launch into a rant about women changing themselves for men and competing with each other when we should be embracing sisterhood. Once she got going, it would usually take both me and Meredith to pull her away.

This time, she just smirked at me. "I won't even dignify that with a response. But I _will _say that at least we know _you're _all natural."

Felt heat pooling in my cheeks. "Oh, God! I can't believe you still remember that!"

Meredith laughed. "How could we forget? We take our boyfriends skinny-dipping and you end up giving them a peepshow."

"You think I _wanted_ to lose my bikini bottom in that nasty lake? It was the most mortifying experience in my life."

Anya took a seat and grinned knowingly. "I don't think Jason minded so much, though. It took you both a pretty long time to get out of that 'nasty lake,' as you call it."

Smiled widely at the memory and sat down next to Meredith. "No, I don't think he minded at all."

Fell back into our comfortable old ways instantly. Was afraid things might be awkward, or that they'd be angry I'd lost touch. Was completely the opposite! Am so happy; I have my sisters back. 

Am meeting them for dinner and drinks later tonight. Will get ready and drop paperwork off at Mulder's apartment before I go, since he has left three messages asking for it while I was away. Would like to have a Mulder-free Sunday, if possible, so will be getting this out of the way as soon as possible. At least he's opening his door to me now.

**(6:22 PM)**

New resolution: _Must stop letting Mulder get to me._

Have just left his apartment, where I dropped off the file he needed. Odd, though, that he needed that particular file so urgently. Was ready to round-file the entire case just after leaving it behind here last month -- why the urgency?

Anyway, he opened the door and looked at me as if he'd never seen me in regular clothes before. Really, is silly! Am not dressed inappropriately for where am going -- was behaving like am dressed like a streetwalker. 

"Here's that file, Mulder."

Made noncommittal noise in back of his throat, no longer looking at me, but at the floor. Held pointless file out, waiting for him to take it. He didn't.

Suddenly was v. annoyed. How dare he continue to act this way toward me?

"Look, I have to go. Either take the damn file or not, but I'm not standing out here all night waiting for you to make up your mind."

Ah, that got his attention. Only now he was looking at me like he'd like to take me out, and not in a good way. Snatched the file out of my hand. Good, at least _that's_ settled, I thought.

But was still seething. How dare he call me up, demanding a favor and then act like I'm an intruder when I show up? 

"And another thing, Mulder. I'd appreciate a little less hostility next time I do you a favor."

Stalked back to the elevator, not bothering to wait for a response. Am bored with his attitude. More to the point, am sick of being taken for granted. Sick. Of. It! 

**_I decree that Dana Katherine Scully will no longer be taken for granted by fuckwit of a partner!_** 

Will persevere, and stick to this decree as gospel! Have survived viscous office rumors, vile excuse for a romantic prospect, alien bounty hunters, psychotics, cannibals, invisible entities, haunted Tilt-O-Whirls, strange contortionists, every type of scum imaginable, and God only knows how many attempts on my life. Have saved countless lives, am responsible, intelligent woman of substance with nothing less than the world at my feet -- will NOT back down! A woman with my creds has only one reasonable conclusion to reach: 

I will NEVER let him take advantage of my loyalty again, no matter how unique our situation is. Am his equal, damn it, not his shadow with a convenient "M.D." after my name. 

Stepped into my waiting cab, shaking with adrenaline and thinking how glad I am that Meredith decided to stay with Anya this weekend. Have never needed a drink with the girls more than I do right now. 

Look out, DC. Here I come…

TBC

A/N: I know this took a really loooong time for me to post. This chapter has been a hard one to get past. First, I was sick, then all kinds of RL B.S. flopped down on me. On top of that, I couldn't seem to get this chapter to work to my satisfaction. So after much fighting with it, I decided to think of this as a transitional chapter. It's getting us to point B.

Thanks so much for hanging in there with me. And thanks especially to everyone who reviewed! You guys rock. vbg


	8. Forgiveness?

Dana Scully's Diary 8/?

By Piper Sargasso

**~ Wednesday 8, March**

_Alcohol units: 1 (v.g.), Humiliating conversations with Mom: 1 (but v.v. long), Minutes spent fantasizing about boss: 83, Hours spent ignoring a pissy-acting Mulder: 2, Standards of acceptable office conditions lowered: 1 (have feeling this is only the beginning).  _

Have had sublime revelation -- an epiphany, and a depressing one at that. 

It's a man's world. 

Yes, everyone says that, but it's really _true_. Take movies as prime example. Movies are geared toward men and appeal to the part of every woman who wants to be a sex kitten for -- oh, yes -- her MAN. 

Here's my theory. Men like things that blow up in incredibly unrealistic and choreographed sequences. That, and fistfights, gunplay and general destruction. All these things make them feel more manly. Must name this grunting display of testosterone-induced euphoria. Hmm… Perhaps something like "My Penis Is Larger Than Yours Syndrome," "I Am a Manlier Man Than You disease," or similar. But I digress. The women in these movies fall into two categories: 

1) I am a Smoldering Sex Goddess, Worship Me But Treat Me Badly and Blow Things Up 

 or 

2) I'm Too Good To Deal With The Likes of You. Watch As I Pretend To Hate You While _I_ Blow Things Up Using My Kick Ass, Girl-Power Stunts.

The first is transparent enough. The second takes a bit of analyzing. You see, she _wants_ you to think she can't stand you. She has the art of looking like you disgust her down to a T. But really, all she ends up with is the look of a dominatrix, ready to whip you into submission. All to appeal to the sort of man who likes his woman to be a goddess in the garage and a tigress in bed. 'Hard to get' kicked up several notches. Is disturbing.

See? A man's, sex-driven world. Clearly, men rule over Hollywood as they do everywhere else. Are these "vixens" trained to be this way as soon as they step off the bus? Something must be done! Is a shame lions seem to be more in tune with the true value of a woman than we are. Females hunt and care for their young as the males lie about and mate. There is no pretense there, females are in charge. Perhaps lions are more evolved as far as that goes, and see no purpose in exploiting their females. 

Whole thing with movies is vicious cycle. Young men grow up, idolizing people onscreen and think, "This is the way it is." Hollywood spreads and feeds that image, and new generations, bred on this manner of thinking, go into Hollywood to create new era of this thinking. Cannot think of single movie in which the women weren't exposed somehow in this manner, for the sake of appealing to male audience. Can just imagine directors: "Look, I know your character just found out she has Consumption and will die within the next three scenes, but could you make it look a little sexier?"

Argh!!!  Cycle must be stopped! Must share insight with Meridith and Anya.    

Has ruined movies for me. Wish I could share this theory with Mulder and have nice little debate like usual, but don't want to deal with his crap this morning. V. sad -- I miss him. 

Ooooh! Cell's ringing!

**(11:20 AM)**

Was Mom asking if I wouldn't like to come to lunch with her. Had to say yes, of course. Will head out in half an hour. 

**(1:12 PM)**

Gah. Another fun-filled afternoon with parent hyped up on equal doses of "Oprah" and "A Wedding Story," harassing me about love life. Strangely enough, seems to have no interest in pairing me up with Mulder, most convenient man in my life and former matchmaking target. Latest nudges appear to be in the direction of Walter Skinner, superior and scary, suspension-doling ex-Marine and therefore off-limits. Wonder where she gets such crazy ideas.

Mmm, Skinner though. Bet he's a big, protective teddy bear under all that stiff ordering-about attitude and neck tie tight enough to choke most men. Wonder what he's hiding under all those clothes…

**(1:22 PM)**

Oh God -- was just caught by Mulder drooling all over desk while thinking naughty and impure thoughts about AD Skinner. Am so embarrassed! Still, he can't know what I was thinking. Feel strangely guilty nonetheless -- feeling greatly increased by irritable look given to me by partner. 

Decided was great time to try and start a non-work related chat. 

"What?" I demanded. 

Mentally banged head on desk. Real smooth, Dana.

Didn't answer me for several minutes, then: "Did you finish that report I asked you to read?"

What? What report? Where? 

Oh! Was supposed to be reading over file. Where did I put it…?

"Of course I finished it," said in haughtiest tone. Proceeded to search desk while trying to look nonchalant and like someone _not_ looking for file. Shit! Where did that little bugger go…

"You've lost it, haven't you," he asked dryly. Not a question.

Shot him scathing glare. "No, I have not. I'm, uh, looking for that expense report I was working on yesterday."

Where could it have gone? Is small desk. Where? Where? Suddenly, see manila folder peeking out of top drawer. Ah ha! Smugly took it out of drawer and held it up for Mulder to see.

"So? Is it?" He asked.

Is it? Is it _what_? Oh God. Think quickly, Dana!

"Huh?" replied.

Oh, for the love of… eloquence, why have you abandoned me?

Was impatient. "Is it? Because if it is, we're going to need to book a flight tonight."

Ugh. Had no clue what he was talking about, but knew did NOT want to take a flight anywhere tonight. "Um, no. I don't think it is."

"So what do you think it is, then?" asked defensively.

"Er, definitely _not_ an X-File," replied confidently. Ah, the old tried and true. Should shut him up until I can change the subject.

"Are you kidding me, Scully? Then how do you explain the fatal bite marks? Where do you think they came from?"

"Er…" 

Oh, yes! He was going on about carnivorous bugs the other day (on the phone with Langly, of course, not with shunned, unsavory me.) Quirked an eyebrow. "Well, it isn't man-eating mosquitoes if that's what you're thinking," told him in officious tone. 

Looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. "You haven't read it, have you?"

Damn. "Well…"

"I knew it. Look, I need to book that flight. You can come with me or not, I really don't care at this point." Stormed out of office.

Great. Have pissed him off further and have won myself trip to…

Opened folder. Thought should at least know what's going on before he comes back.

Mississippi -- chasing a possible werewolf? 

Oh, fantastic. Want to kill myself and the day isn't even over yet. Can it get any worse?

**(2:30 PM)**

Have reached new low. After much consideration and no less than five ignored attempts at conversation with Mulder, have decided to resort to drastic measures. Will Instant Message partner, who is sitting less than six feet away from me. Is pathetic.

Will think of it as experiment, and therefore _less_ pathetic. How long will he go before recognizing my new handle? How long after that before he huffs out of room again? Must break this awkwardness between us -- might as well amuse self as well.

Here we go. Must try not to laugh while typing in his handle, also new.

**Ncogneat-o:** Hey, Mulder.

Cast sly glance to see reaction. Subject looks confused.

**Government_Pawn:** Frohike?

**Ncogneat-o:** You can't tell? Should I be offended, Mulder? I'd know it was _you_ from anywhere -- no one else would go by that name.    

Subject still frowning, appears uncomfortable. 

**Ncogneat-o: **Hello?

**Government_Pawn: **What do you want?

**Ncogneat-o:** Just to talk. Is that okay?

**Government_Pawn:** Not when I don't know to whom I am speaking.

Oooh, so proper! Only gets hoity-toity when he's irritated and/or is talking to member of Consortium, real or imagined. 

"What are you doing over there, Scully?"

Gah! Pretend to be preoccupied with typing legitimate document, making show of lifting ancient expense report up to 'see it better'. Wink, wink. 

"Scully?"

Typing, typing, typing. La lala la la. "Hmm?"

"What are you typing?" Suspicious edge to his voice, Mulder at his most paranoid. 

Minimize message screen and bring up work screen. "This," I huff out and swivel the screen his way, obviously miffed by being interrupted while busily finishing up my part of the workload. Har har.

"So, are you coming with me to check out this werewolf or not?"

Made noncommittal noise and continued "typing." Screen full of random letters in manner of gibberish when a child pretends to type. Feel completely ridiculous, but must keep up appearances. 

"You know, I met a werewolf while you were…away."

Could see him perk up out of corner of my eye. 

"It was a case I looked into. Of course, he wasn't a real werewolf," continued conversationally, still hard at work on my keyboard. "He was a lycanthrope who traveled with a carnival sideshow."   

Several minutes went by without comment, so I brought message screen back up.

**Ncogneat-o:** Relax, you know who I am.

**Government_Pawn:** Then tell me your name.

**Ncogneat-o:** What fun would that be? C'mon, Mulder, where's your sense of adventure? 

Several minutes pass, again with no comment. Subject staring at computer screen, eyes glazed over. Suddenly jumps out of seat and searches file cabinet. Cannot fathom what he's doing, but maybe something in there will divert him from silly werewolf-chasing tonight.

Oh, please yes! Would be nice to stay in town for an entire week. Do NOT want to spend another night in woods, squatting in the foliage and getting poison sumac in v. uncomfortable places. Has found something seems interested in…whatever it is will change his mind, I know it. Life cannot be so cruel, after all. 

**~ Wednesday, March 9**

Alcohol units: 0 (v. bad, as need the alcohol for therapeutic purposes), Krycek seductions: 0 (good), Relapses into pit of despair: 1. 

**(9:46 AM)**

Life is cruel.

Messaging attempt aborted by Mulder's abrupt announcement that we will instead be "properly" investigating the carnival haunting I "so carelessly blew off." 

Am now in Montana, drinking coffee while The Tentacled Man slurps some sort of runny porridge through a small and unusual orifice. Will spare myself the details -- is bad enough to be living it, can see no sense in forcing self to _re_-live nasty event later.

Am trying to conceal small shudders every time the slurping gets particularly energetic. Do not think it's working.

God, someone shoot me, please. 

**(10:01 AM)**

Oh, God. Oh, God, Oh, God, Oh GOD!!!

Humiliation is complete. Have run into Vernon, in all her piranha-toothed, white leotard-wearing glory. Seems time has NOT lessened her attraction toward me -- a fact am painfully aware of now. And so is Mulder.

Oh, God.

Has been following us as we investigate the carnival site, circling us on a unicycle and staring at me intently whenever am in sight. Pretended not to notice, instead focusing on path ahead. Prayed Mulder wouldn't notice the attention was directed toward me, but in vain, as Vernon has the letters "F.B.I." emblazoned, once again, in glitter, only this time is written across the chest of her white leotard. Also, has glittered the letters "M.D." on an area further south of her bodysuit. Am cringing as I write this. 

Glitter appears to be set and dry, which can only suggest Vernon has created this look some time ago. Why? Why can I not attract a nice, normal man? Will even settle for Frohike, dear, sweet, perverted Frohike, at this point. 

**(2:58 PM)**

Mulder appears to be in good spirits. But then, I _am_ providing ample amusement for him, much against my will.

Vernon has taken to contorting herself atop a high wire with no net. Have been told she has held the same position for last two hours and forty-three minutes with no break. Most impressive. We stumbled on her impromptu act two hours and twenty-six minutes into it -- I squeaked something about running to the ladies as soon as I recognized her, but Mulder insisted I stay and watch for a moment. 

Jerk.

It wasn't long before Strange Earl, the owner of the sideshow came up next to us with Wilson, who is still 'talker' for the Penguin Man.

"That's a really long act she has going on up there," Mulder stated with a gesture upwards.      

Wilson spat on the ground and squinted up at the high wire. "Well, now, that ain't no act. That there's a bona-fide declaration of love."

Winced at the long, drawn-out way he said 'love', as if each letter equaled a new syllable -- each one mocking me. 

"Let's get to that ride, Mulder," pleaded with partner, who smirked at me in response.

"Love?" he asked Wilson, obviously amused.

"I reckon so. Our Vernon's had it bad for Miz Scully over there ever since she first set eyes on her a few weeks back. I've never seen her so in love." Stopped long enough to fix me with a stern expression. "You remember that talk we had, Agent Scully?" 

Wanted to die. "Yes," replied miserably. 

"You treat her right," came unexpected, gruff voice of Strange Earl, and they both walked away.

Mulder looked at me, eyebrow quirked and amusement all over his face.

"Not a _word_," I warned him.

Glint in his eyes not v. reassuring. 

**(6:33 PM)**

On the plane home now. Partner has said nothing about Vernon, who gave us a mostly silent yet tearful sendoff at the airport an hour ago, dressed in her housecoat with the pink marabou thrown over the glittered leotard. Am convinced these represent her "dressy" clothes. She was taken by the most quiet fit of hysterics imaginable as we prepared to board. Our parting shot was the sight of Vernon, twisting herself beneath an orange, plastic airport chair, bawling in short, high-pitched gasps.

"That woman's voice is an X-File," Mulder said jovially. Har, har. Glad he's been properly entertained. 

Was surprised when Mulder ruled "mechanical failure" as cause for ride going haywire. Had convinced myself that, though _obviously_ correct in my deduction, he would want to spend a week in Montana with a haunted ride as grounds just to spite me. Perhaps he felt was properly humiliated as it was, without his help. Does this mean he's not angry with me anymore? 

Feel awful about Vernon, though. Maybe should send her a letter?

Hmm… May not be a v.g. idea. 

**(8: 00 PM)**

Home at last! Will check machine and shower grime off of body.

Hmm, three messages.

"Dana, honey, it's Mom. Listen, I know you said you didn't want to be set up, but I know this darling man who I just know you'd be perfect with. I've given him your number and he's promised to call by tonight to arrange a date. Be a sport and go out with him, dear. For me? Ta!"

Ugh. Parental guilt-trip intermingled with self-loathing at having to be set up in order to get out of the apartment for social occasion involving member of opposite sex. Also, am beginning to regret giving her box set of "Ab Fab" for Christmas. 

"Heya, Doc."

Huh. Frohike. And by the raspy voice he thinks is sexy, am in for a little treat.

"I'm having a problem with this bone -- it just won't seem to go away. Hope you have a cure…"

Langly shouting in the background.

"Yeah, well use some newspaper you hippie freak! But if you flush it again, I'm not cleaning up the mess this time."

More shouting in the background.

"So's your mother!"

Loud click. End of message.

Rubbing at tension headache forming, I eyed the machine warily. Last message.

"Hi, Dana. This is Chad. I, uh, (nervous laugh) don't usually do this sort of thing, but your mother knows my mother and they both thought we would have a nice time. So I have two tickets to "Chicago" if you'd like to go. Give me a call, any time after five, at…"

Hmm… sounds friendly enough and have really wanted to see "Chicago." Have heard good things, but didn't realize the troupe performing was in town. Could be nice. 

Dialed number.

"Hello?" Oooh, nice voice. Promising, v. promising.

"Hello, Chad? This is Dana…"  


End file.
